


From the Sand and Dust

by PuddingMcMuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Gen, will add tags as chapters update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddingMcMuffin/pseuds/PuddingMcMuffin
Summary: Zaggar Mummy AU, based off of the 1932 film "The Mummy" with Boris Karloff and Zita Johann.(Working title. Might change if I can come up with something better.)





	From the Sand and Dust

Darkness.

Completely black and still. No sound. No life. Only a vast and never-ending void of non-existence that would have driven him mad if he had been left alone with his thoughts.

In that way, it is a mercy that he cannot think, although it was surely a mercy that was unintentional.

There was no place for him in the world beyond, they had decided on their own authority. His soul trapped in his mortal form, he is unable to pass from one world to the next; the ultimate punishment for the ultimate transgression.

And so in this never-ending darkness, dead Zarkon sleeps. Body tucked away, his memory erased from all record and even from the minds that knew him; his fate to stay forever in a state unending nothingness.

If he is lucky, his body might be found by grave robbers and destroyed, so his soul will be allowed to truly die.

There is one small chance he knew of when he was still among the living, of a way to escape and be alive again, but it was a chance so small that he would have long since given up any hope for it had he been allowed the power of thought.

But in his state, Zarkon cannot think, his mind put to a stop indefinitely while he serves his endless sentence.

And the darkness continues.

 

\-----

 

The last dredges of sun were vanishing, obscured by the mounds of sand that made up the Eastern desert. At the bottom of one of these mounds, a small hut adorned with a sign:

1921 Expedition, British Museum.

The lanterns both outside and in the hut had been lit in preparation for the oncoming darkness, and voices could be heard coming from inside.

“Get back to your cataloging, Matt,” said Sam.

“But _dad_ ,” said Matt, “we have an _actual mummy_. Who cares about making sure the broken pottery is all accounted for?”

Matt was straining his neck to look past his father where he sat at the table, desperate to get a better look at the mummy. They had propped the casket against the wall, and Shiro was currently taking off the last of the wrappings on the mummy's face.

“This expedition isn't just about mummies, Matt,” Shiro called back to him. “It's also about learning about a culture long since past and how the people from that time lived.”

“Exactly,” said Sam, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, but when we've got an ancient dead guy in the room, how am I supposed to focus on anything else?” Matt asked. “Besides, Shiro, you said that there was something different about this mummy. How can I work on cataloging when not only do we have a mummy, but an _unusual_ mummy?”

Sam sighed, but smiled as he looked to his son. “I see that we won't be getting any work done until you've gotten a look at our new friend over there.”

“Don't lie Sam; you've been wanting a chance to check him out too,” Shiro said jokingly. “Don't think I haven't seen all the times you've looked over here.”

“I'm the leader of this expedition; I'm _supposed_ to keep an eye on everything,” Sam said.

“Sure dad,” Matt said, as he all but ran over to the mummy.

The mummy was tall, towering over even Shiro. He was ancient Galran, they had determined, based on the scales on his head and the dusty, light-purple of his dry, wrinkled skin. The most notable feature of his face was a long scar that started at the bottom of his left eye and ran down past his lips.

Despite the thousands of years that had passed, the wrappings had stayed in place, but looked somewhat brittle, even as they held the mummy's crossed arms to his chest.

Matt looked back to the mummy's face. His head was tilted to the right, and his expression looked calm.

“He looks like he's asleep,” said Matt. “Very _dead_ , but he looks peaceful.”

Sam stepped up behind him, looking at the mummy as well. “I have a feeling that his death was anything _but_ peaceful, though,” he said.

“Why?”

“All of his organs were left in,” Shiro answered. “In fact, none of the steps for embalming this body were taken. And if you see here-” he pointed at the mummy's hands and shoulders - “you can see his claws that broke through the wrappings when he tried to get out of them. This man was buried alive.”

“..... _Oh_ ,” was all Matt could say. He looked back to the mummy, and then to the casket. “There's no name written,” he said.

“And you can see on the other side that the usual protective runes have been scratched out,” Shiro said. “Evidently, he committed a crime so terrible that his soul was also damned.”

“The ancients could be cruel if they really wanted to,” said Sam. He glanced behind him. “Shiro, we do have the camera, right? I want a picture of him before we completely take him out of the casket.”

“It should be in the corner there,” Shiro answered him. As the two older men began to mess with the cumbersome camera, Matt's attention went to the mummy once more. His face still seemed peaceful, but now he felt he could see a hint of sadness in his expression. Being buried alive was a horrible way to go – not the worst (the Brazen Bull was still something that made Matt cringe just thinking about it) – but it was hard to imagine what it would have been like for the poor Galran. Not only placed in an enclosed casket, but also being wrapped up and completely unable to move. As if the casket wasn't enough.

While Sam and Shiro fiddled with the camera, Matt couldn’t help poking at the mummy’s face, lightly touching the scar. He had barely managed to brush his cheek, considering how much taller the mummy was than him, but upon touching it, the stiffness and the dryness of the skin surprised him. It still _looked_ as though it could have been the skin of a living person, but feeling it gave away the fact that he was dead. Matt looked down to see the tip of his finger covered in a white dust; it would probably be best not to touch him again.

“Excuse me, Matt,” Shiro's voice cut through his thoughts. Matt jumped to the side as Sam and Shiro set up the camera, Sam disappearing under the dark fabric attached to the back to take the photo.

Shiro and Matt waited as minutes ticked by while the camera charged up, before it finally took one photograph.

“All right!” said Sam, taking the camera back to the corner. “Let's not do that again. I somehow always forget how tedious these things are.”

Matt went back to the mummy, leaning against the casket. “You poor guy,” said Matt. “What _did_ you do to deserve something like that?”

“Probably treason,” said Shiro.

“I would say sacrilege is the most likely explanation,” a deep voice answered from across the room.

The three turned to see a well-dressed Galran male at the doorway, taking off his hat as he walked in.

“Kolivan!” Sam exclaimed, walking over to shake his hand. “So good to see you again.”

Kolivan smiled. “You as well. I'm honored that you wanted me to examine your discovery.”

He greeted Shiro and Matt as well, and the pleasantries continued for a few moments more. Kolivan leaned his cane against the side table next to the doorway, and looked at the mummy.

“So this is him,” Kolivan said.

“The greatest find of any expedition I've ever lead,” said Sam. “In all my years, I've never found a mummy preserved as perfectly as this one.”

“This guy's going to be the star of the 1921 expedition,” Matt chimed in, eager to share in his father's pride. “The best mummy ever found.”

Kolivan hummed absentmindedly in agreement, stepping closer as he looked over the mummy.

“There are a few things that are a little strange, though,” said Shiro.

“Such as the runes that _have_ been left intact are ancient Altean and not Galran?” asked Kolivan.

Shiro nodded, asking “what would be the reason for that?”

“Of the five races that lived in these lands, the Alteans were the most prominent group,” Kolivan answered. “When it came to matters that involved all five groups, the Alteans were the ones who would take charge in those situations. Evidently, when they executed this Galran, they chose their own methods.”

Kolivan leaned in closer, inspecting the state of the body. “Where did you find him?” he asked.

“In the middle of the dunes out there,” said Sam. “Buried a lot deeper than anything else I've ever found. The Alteans definitely didn't want anyone digging him up.”

“Why would he be buried so deep?” Matt asked. “They don't seem to go so far for the people who _aren't_ executed.”

“It's as your father said; he was not meant to be found,” said Kolivan.

He turned back to Sam. “I can't imagine you would need me to examine this mummy for you, Sam,” he said. “Considering that you've already been able to figure these things out on your own, I can't help but wonder why I'm actually here.”

Sam grinned. “I thought you'd never ask.”

He turned, making his way to a table next to the opposite wall. On it sat a plain, battered chest.

“There's something else I want you to see. Shiro, would you mind...?” Sam called.

“Of course.”

Together, Shiro and Sam hoisted the chest with some effort and carried it to the table in the center.

“This was buried with him?” Kolivan asked.

“Buried above him,” said Shiro. “If it wasn't for that, I don't know if we would have found him.”

“I'm fairly certain that they're from the same period,” Sam explained. “Why it was above the mummy, I can't say.”

Sam waved Kolivan over, tapping on top of the chest.

“I wanted your opinion on _that_.”

On closer inspection, Kolivan saw what Sam was referring to: a large, circular sigil that was carved into the center. The image was that of two hands clasped together, as if in prayer, while chains were wrapped around them. Along the edge of the circle, runes had been carved in as well, completing the ward of protection.

“Eisheth Zenunim,” said Kolivan. “Whoever had this box made it with the intention of having whatever was inside protected.”

“Eisheth?” asked Matt.

“Another name for Lilith,” Kolivan explained. “The first woman created, the Mother of Monsters. A demon to some, a goddess to others. A powerful entity, regardless the title she's given.” He ran his hand over the top, leaning in to look closer.

“Curious. If this was buried the same time the mummy was, someone else was committing sacrilege against Ra and his deities. Eisheth was not allowed to be worshiped during that time.”

Kolivan looked at Sam. “What about the inside?”

“Haven't checked yet,” said Sam.

“Then there's no time like the present!” Matt chimed in. He slipped in front of Kolivan, grabbing the top of the chest and lifting it off with some effort. Sam's protests died in his throat as all four men saw what was inside: another box, this one ornate and with markings that all of them recognized.

“Ancient Altean,” said Shiro.

“What's say we take it out, get a better look?” Matt suggested.

Matt barely gave Shiro any time to grab the other end before he was lifting the box out. The two set it on the other end of the table, stepping away to make room for Kolivan and Sam.

“I feel like I should apologize for my son's behavior,” Sam said, chuckling. “It's his first expedition, and he hasn't yet learned the value of patience.”

_“Dad.”_

“It isn't too different from when you first started,” Kolivan murmured. He moved slowly to the box, his brows furrowed. Perhaps it was the excitement of the new find that Sam and Matt didn't notice, but Shiro looked to the Galran with slight worry. His demeanor had changed the second the chest had been opened; he seemed stiff, but when he met eyes with Shiro, he relaxed somewhat, but still seemed on edge.

The two turned their attention back to the box, and now that it was out of the chest on full display for everyone to see, it was an understatement to call it a stunning piece of craftsmanship.

The box itself was painted a cream color, and the edges of the lid were lined with gold. The gold trim was also present on the corners, traveling down and wrapping around the bottom. At each corner was a figure of Thoth, also made of gold. On the lid were carved the symbols that everyone had seen earlier, but now after taking it out of the chest, they were able to focus on them better.

“'Death',” Shiro read aloud. “'Eternal punishment, for anyone who opens this casket. In the name of Amon-Ra, the King of the Gods'.”

“Spooky stuff,” said Matt.

“Boys,” said Sam, “if this is what I think it is, we may have just stumbled on the Scroll of Thoth.”

Shiro hummed in thought. “I guess that would make sense; the timeline seems about right for when it disappeared.”

“It needed to disappear somewhere,” said Sam. “Just think of it: with the mummy and the discovery of a long-lost scroll, we have the greatest find the world has ever seen. We've made history.”

“If it is the scroll in there,” said Shiro.

Matt grinned. “Only one way to find out,” he said, grabbing the sides of the lid.

_“Wait.”_

Kolivan's voice rang out through the room as he slammed his hand on the lid, not allowing it to even budge as Matt tried in vain to lift it.

All three humans looked at him in question and alarm.

“You've read the curse,” he said.

All three blinked in surprise, somewhat dumbfounded by his words.

“Kolivan,” said Sam, “surely you don't think there's an _actual_ curse on this?”

“Curses on any ancient relics are not ones to be scoffed at,” Kolivan answered.

“Wouldn't a few thousand years in the sand get rid of any mumbo-jumbo the Alteans magicked onto it?” Matt interjected.

Kolvian's fur bristled. “It is no joke,” he insisted. “The ancient Alteans hid the scroll for a reason, and they mean what they say when it comes to their warnings. You've read the curse, and if you open that box I guarantee that there will be nothing but misfortune for all of us.”

“Kolivan, you can't be serious.”

“I mean it, Sam. You called me here for my opinion, and here it is: do not open that box.”

“Kolivan, this is the greatest discovery of our careers,” said Shiro.

“If you will not be persuaded, then I will have no more part of this,” Kolivan snapped. He turned on his heel, grabbing his hat and cane as he walked out the door. “I will just trust that you three have enough sense to heed my warning.”

“Kolivan!” Sam called after him. When there was no response, he sighed, looking back to his son.

“Matt, get back to cataloging,” he said. “Shiro, come with me; the two of us together should be able to talk to him.”

“Does it really matter?” Matt asked as his father left the room. He looked at Shiro. “Why force him to be apart of this if he's that worried?”

“Professor Holt and Kolivan have known each other a long time,” Shiro explained. “At the very least, we should make sure Kolivan is still willing to speak to us.”

Shiro walked out the door as well, looking over his shoulder as he called out “just get back to the cataloging like your dad said. We'll deal with the box later.”

Matt crossed his arms in a huff, but begrudgingly sat down to sort through the papers he had tossed aside earlier.

But the gold of the box continued to glimmer in the lamp light, and despite his best efforts, Matt found his gaze kept going back to it.

 

\-----

 

Kolivan and Sam were at the top of the hill when Shiro reached them, the bright stars in the sky lighting his way up the steps. Kolivan glanced in his direction as he joined them, Sam mid-sentence as he pleaded with the Galran doctor.

“-just isn't worth getting upset like this,” said Sam. “Please come back down with us, Kolivan.”

“I have made myself clear,” said Kolivan. “If you go ahead and open that, I want no part of it.”

“What could possibly happen?” Shiro tried.

Kolivan pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated.

“You've read the curse,” he said firmly. “You've awakened the magick that was placed on that box, and if opened, we will only gain pain and suffering. I don't know how to make myself any more clear.”

“You can't expect us to think that 'magic' is a good reason to not do our jobs,” Sam argued.

“You need to start believing in it,” said Kolivan. “Many ancient spells are weaker now, but some of them are still potent."

“Then what would you have us do with it?” Sam asked, exasperated.

“Throw it away,” Kolivan said. He ignored Sam's stutter of disbelief and the way Shiro looked at him in shock as he continued, “destroy it, put it somewhere where it can never be found, but do not open it.”

“I can't do that Kolivan,” Sam said firmly. “As an archaeologist, I could never do such a thing.”

“There are times when you need to set aside your personal beliefs for the sake of the greater good.”

“And I agree with that statement, but this time is not one of them.”

“I will not condone acts of sacrilege!”

Sam and Kolivan's argument circled back to the points before, neither backing down. Nothing Shiro tried to interject with did anything to convince Kolivan, and Shiro couldn't help but sigh.

The whole situation was a mess.

 

\-----

 

Only minutes had passed, but Matt couldn't help the way he was drawn to the box. He had barely written down anything, and he kept alternating his gaze between the box and the doorway, waiting for someone to come back in.

He tapped the pen against the table.

Surely there wasn't anything wrong with taking a closer look?

He stood, grabbing the lamp in front of him and stepping towards the box, examining it closer.

There didn't appear to be any sort of hinges on the box, meaning that the lid was one that could just be lifted off. And that there was no way of actually locking the box, meaning that just opening it would be the easiest thing in the world.

_Get back to cataloging._

Matt put the lamp back and sat back down. _You had your look,_ he told himself, _now get back to work. You'll see what's inside later._

The pen touched the paper, but stayed still as Matt once again looked back at the box. Still no one back from the outside. Who knows how long before someone came back? Matt weighed his options.

He stood back up.

_Humans never got anywhere by playing it safe._

With that thought in mind, he stepped closer, reaching for the lid as he looked back to the doorway. Still no one. Not that Shiro or his father would have objected, he was pretty sure.

He didn't need to use much force to pop the lid off, and he set it to the side while he looked into the oh-so-forbidden box. As his father had guessed, there was indeed a scroll.

Matt lifted it out gingerly – he briefly noted that there was something beneath it wrapped in cloth – and sat back down as he rolled it open.

It was made of papyrus, as expected. Finely written hieroglyphs covered the parchment, a picture of Anubis and an Altean woman in the bottom right corner. A scene many had seen before in other writings – Anubis with the soul of the deceased about to face judgment.

These particular hieroglyphs seemed different from others, however.

Matt set the scroll down, grabbing his pen and paper as he scrawled down a translation of the first lines of the writing, whispering them as he went.

“Herein are... Set down the.... Magic... Words by which.... Isis raised Osiris from..... The dead....”

He paused in his work, narrowing his gaze at the scroll. This was _actually_ an incantation to bring someone back to life? He scanned the rest of the text, trying to see if there were any specifics on _how_ that worked. Does the body need to be within earshot? And exactly how can a dead person hear it if they're _dead?_

Matt looked over his shoulder where the mummy was, still leaning against the wall as they had left him.

“Bet you'd really like this, wouldn't you?” Matt said to him. “Too bad there's no way it can work. I don't know _what_ Kolivan is so worried about.”

No response from the mummy. As was expected.

Matt chuckled. He settled back into the chair, pen to his lips as he scanned the hieroglyphs, and he began to mutter the words aloud.

“Oh, Amon-Ra... God of Gods.... Death is but the doorway.. To new life... We live today... We shall live again... In many forms.. We shall return.... Oh, mighty one....”

Matt's voice trailed off as he continued to read the scroll, completely absorbed in it's contents.

 

\-----

 

There are sounds within the darkness.

Zarkon's ears pick up on them slowly – the flickering of a flame, the rustling of paper, the sound of a voice reciting something. Closer to him, he can hear someone breathing.

His chest heaves, and he realizes that _he_ is the one breathing.

Feeling comes next, and he is aware of how his body is standing, leaning against a smooth surface, his arms crossed over his chest.

The darkness is not as dark as he feels he is accustomed to, and then he remembers that he has eyelids.

Slowly, his eyes open, an action that would have taken anyone else less than a tick, but for him, he can feel how stiff and dry his flesh is, and how not-inclined it is to move after staying still for who knows how long.

He blinks. Once, then twice, taking in his surroundings, and only then is his mind clear enough to fully understand what is happening:

He is awake.

He is _alive._

And then the floodgates of his mind open, and he remembers who he was, and why he is here. The barrage of information – being able to _know_ things again – is staggering, and he can only stand dumbly for a few moments as everything is processed, unable to comprehend what is happening.

Then there is a passing thought – where is _here?_

He blinks again, and for the first time since waking, he takes a look around the room he is in:

He instantly recognizes his coffin that he's currently standing in – a chill rushes through him as he relives the last memories he has – but the room is different. On its own, it is no more than a simple dirt room, but the items that are in there are so different, some completely unrecognizable that he cannot even fathom what their purpose would be.

His eyes drift across the floor, looking at a thin black rope – was it a rope? Perhaps not – that stretched across the room. Then he spotted the man sitting at the chair.

Hair on his head, like an Altean, but with lighter skin than most. The ears stick out, ugly and short, rounded instead of the pointed tip Zarkon is accustomed to seeing. His clothes are strange, like nothing he had ever seen. What was this person?

He was facing away from him, leaning back as he examined something, a sheet of curled, yellow parchment.

It only takes a moment for Zarkon to recognize it – the Scroll of Thoth.

He freezes completely, and his thoughts that had been distracted and disjointed about what was happening and what he should do stop. Now his thoughts could only focus on one thing – the scroll.

His arms lower from their crossed position over his chest, the wrappings breaking easily due to their age.

He pushes off with his back, steadying himself with his legs as their wrappings tear apart as well. He stands on his own for the first time in decophebes.

He takes a step forward, unused to the simple action of walking, but still, he can only focus on the scroll.

The man on the chair seems to hear the sounds of him moving, as he glances back. The expression of pure shock overtakes his face instantly as he sees Zarkon coming towards him.

 

\-----

 

How is a person supposed to react when they see something that's been dead for thousands of years walking around like it thinks it has any right to be alive?

It was something along those lines Matt would have wished he was thinking at that moment; anything smarter than repeating _what the fuck?_ over and over again.

On the outside, though, Matt can't get out a single word as he watches this scene play out; he can only sit there, completely stiff, while this ancient dead thing lumbers towards him, bindings breaking apart and trailing behind it with each step.

It was dead, he _knew_ it was dead. Matt had touched the face when Shiro had taken the wrapping off of it. Something that hard and dry to the touch _could not be alive_.

But that fact was somehow not stopping it from reaching towards him with a giant hand with nails like claws that quite honestly looked like it could easily crush his skull.

A claw brushed passed his cheek, the hand reaching around him. The thing stumbled slightly, and Matt felt another large hand steadying itself on his back.

It was dead and it was moving around and it was _leaning on him_ and Matt still couldn't make any sort of noise, now his fear being that the large hand on his back would reach in and tear out his spine.

It's eyes were glowing, Matt could see. With all other Galra he had met, they all had yellow eyes, yet with this one, the eyes were a light purple. There was moisture in them, too, where only minutes before the body had been a dried up husk.

How is such a thing possible? Matt wanted to ask. But even if he could, Zarkon wouldn't have answered him.

The next moments happen quickly and quietly. Zarkon has nothing to say to the human as he reclaims the scroll that he sees as rightfully his; he has other things he needs to worry about.

Matt cannot say anything to the mummy as the scroll slips out of his grasp, not even able to put up a fight as his father's archaeological find is taken from him; he is still struggling to understand how any of this is happening.

The scroll slips from Matt's fingers and into Zarkon's, who brings it close to his chest as he turns away from Matt, heading towards the door to the outside, his stride becoming stronger as his legs become used to walking again.

It's when the mummy has left the room, when the last pieces of the broken wrappings that trailed behind him are completely out of sight, that something in Matt's mind clicks, and his reaction to the situation is:

Scream.

 

\-----

 

Shiro was the first to run back into the room, and the first to find Matt sitting on the floor next to the overturned chair, face gone pale and hyperventilating as he stared at the doorway.

“Matt, what happened?” Shiro asked as he rushed over to him, gripping him by the shoulders.

“Matt!” Sam yelled as he ran in, instantly going to his son's side. “Matt, are you alright!?”

Matt didn't respond, didn't even look at his father or his friend, only continuing to shake while his breathing became more erratic.

Kolivan was the last to enter, stopping at the doorway.

“Someone has stolen your mummy,” he said, staring to the side of the room.

Shiro and Sam both looked away from Matt to see what he was talking about: the casket is empty, the mummy is gone.

“My god,” said Sam. He looked back to Matt. “Who took it, Matt? What did they do?”

“The box has been opened, too,” said Shiro. Both Sam and Kolivan looked to the box, whose lid was leaning against the side.

“Is it-?” Sam started.

“There is no scroll,” said Kolivan, “if there was one, it was taken as well.”

“How did that happen in the time we were gone?!” Sam yelled.

Then Matt began to laugh, still ignoring the three men as he shakily pointed out the door past Kolivan.

“H-h-he-he w-went for a little walk!” Matt managed to get out. “Y-you all should have seen his face!” His laughter became uncontrollable.

The other three could only watch in confusion and increasing worry as he continued, Matt's violent laughter causing him to shake.

Kolivan composed himself first. “My car isn’t far from here,” he said. “He's in shock; we need to get him to a hospital.”

“Right,” said Shiro. He grabbed Matt, hoisting him up and out of his father's grasp.

Sam seemed to want to protest, reaching to his son as Shiro carried him away. Kolivan went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let's go, Sam. Your son needs you.”

“Y-yes. Right,” Sam agreed. He looked around the room, back to the empty casket. “What could they have done to-”

A loud peal of laughter startled both Kolivan and Sam. Sam, shaken out of his stupor, jumped up and ran out of the room to go to his son. Kolivan followed, reaching the stairs to see Sam helping Shiro carry Matt. They switched his position so both men had an arm underneath both of Matt's.

And then Kolivan saw it.

On the upper part of Matt's back, smudged but still clear to see, was a large, dusty, white handprint.

Too large for either Shiro's or Sam's, it looked more Galran. And Kolivan knew he hadn't touched Matt at all.

Something he had noticed when they had gone back down the stairs came back to mind, and he turned back to the doorway, looking to the sand that surrounded it. Among the footprints of his own and the humans, there was a single set that looked out of place, walking away from the room and into the desert. There were no set of footprints like those that were going into the room.

The words written on the box come back to mind and Kolivan froze, the pieces all clicking together as he understood what happened.

Shiro and the Holts were nearly at the top of the stairs, Matt still laughing with no indication of it stopping anytime soon.

“Matt,” Kolivan said to himself. “What have you unleashed on this world?”

The insane laughter that rang out through the night was the only answer he would get.

 

\-----

 

The sand glitters in the moonlight as Zarkon makes his way through the desert, the coarse grains becoming stuck in the worn wrappings and irritating his feet.

He pays it no mind. Truthfully, he welcomes it, as the last thing he can remember feeling was the smooth surface of his coffin against the equally smooth feeling of the same wrappings, along with a growing sense of panic that was brought on by claustrophobia. He never knew that fear until the day he was buried alive.

Zarkon takes a deep breath, tearing at the wrappings on his throat. It no longer matters, he says to himself. There are more important things to do than to wallow in things that are long since past. Anyone who knew him must be long since dead, if the garb worn by the man from earlier was any indication.

More wrappings tear and fall off of him while he walks. Clearly, it has been a long time if they have aged to such a state.

There is much he needs to learn; while he knows of where he is, it is clear that this is no longer the same land where he once lived. What the world is like now, and how he is to survive in it, he does not know.

But even that is one of the furthest things on his mind, and he brushes it to the side. He will manage, somehow.

Already Zarkon's mind has locked its focus on the purpose of his renewed life; the only reason he has to live, and the reason he was put to death in the first place.

He clenches the scroll he holds to his chest even tighter; it is the key to everything. Anything else that must be done can be figured out along the way, he already has the most important piece.

Zarkon walks, further and further away from his casket, more of the ancient wrappings breaking off, fluttering through the night air as the wind whisks them away.

Only one thought on Zarkon's mind, one name that gives his body renewed strength as he repeats it again and again.

_Honerva._

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr.](http://puddingmcmuffin.tumblr.com/)


End file.
